Ancient Exhumations +2

by Sargent, Stanley C

  Once in the Cretan capital of Knossos, Evoquitus easily managed to locate and transport some of the items he had set out to find. With a flick of the wrist and a few mumbled words, each of the chosen items disappeared in time and space. Finding the Minoan culture much to his liking, he delayed the return to his own time that he might undertake a short excursion to Phaistos, another large metropolis on the island. It was in Phaistos, while attending an exhibition of the sport of bull-jumping, that Evoquitus became infatuated with a champion acrobat.

  At this point, Anama was not surprised to read that the object of Evoquitus’ unbridled desire was a slender, twenty-one-year-old male acrobat named Arkas.

  By applying the very same incantations used to bewitch Helen and her successor, Evoquitus spirited Arkas into the future. To the kidnapper’s astonishment, he experienced the elusive state of mental and physical ecstasy with the copper-skinned, doe-eyed Cretan that had previously eluded him; it was an experience beyond anything he imagined possible. To his utter despair, however, Arkas’s mind proved as vulnerable to the rigors of transport as his the minds of his predecessors. Thus, despite the intense physical satisfaction attained with Arkas, the athlete’s constant, urgent craving for bodily contact with his wizardly lover eventually became so tiresome to Evoquitus that he felt compelled to add Arkas to his growing collection of human statues.

  Having finally found the key to true sexual gratification, the lustful sorcerer thereafter ignored women in favor of one male after another, luring each into his inescapable web before whisking him away to the confines of the massif. He set out to find the most comely heroes of history and even legend; not all of these proved to be actual persons, and of those he actually did manage to locate, only a few met his high standards. The sorcerer grew ever more frustrated as each new conquest inevitably became a tiresome pest after a time, including the Greek hero of heroes, the massively-built demi-god called Hercules.

  Although Evoquitus periodically abandoned his exclusive quest for sexual pleasure to resume the harvest of artistic treasures, he was always on the lookout for men he deemed outstandingly attractive for one reason or another. His taste varied greatly within weeks, as he enjoyed an ever-widening variety of men of different age and race. He thought it odd that something as simple as the way a fellow smiled or carried himself could prove sufficient to capture Evoquitus’ interest. It mattered little whom he chose in the long run, however, for no extreme of physical beauty could compensate for his lovers’ incapacity for anything beyond the desperate and obsessive demand for physical contact with Evoquitus. Despite the application of innumerable spells to prevent or cure the depletion of consciousness in his lovers, no remedy was found. Although disheartened, Evoquitus was forced to accept this inevitable consequence as, ironically, even his magical powers could not relieve him of the inescapable addiction to sexual gratification he had acquired.

  From time to time, pleasant memories of one of his former lovers would cause him to release his hold over that particular captive that he might, for a time, attempt to recapture the initial joy of the sexual experience with that person. Such futile attempts to relive the past always proved less than satisfying, thus it was not long before the temporarily rejuvenated subject resumed the rigid pose of his assigned station.

  The number of immobile occupants comprising Evoquitus’ gallery grew exponentially; Anama estimated the total at nearly one hundred, but he could not be sure based solely on the text of the diary. It seemed that Evoquitus had determined it wise to keep secret his special gallery, rightfully convinced that Anama would disapprove of every aspect of his student’s sexual and/or romantic pursuits, let alone the blasphemous collection.

  The final entry in Evoquitus’ diary was naught but speculation as to Anama’s reaction to the drastic measures his student planned to propose in opposition to the agenda the Six had so carefully contrived.

  The wizened old mage closed the book and sat quietly for some time, solemnly contemplating the situation and the repercussions of Evoquitus’ perverse actions. It occurred to him that the massif now bore the character of a tomb, similar to the stone-hewn burrows that housed the treasure of the great pharaohs of ancient Egypt. The gloom and silence suddenly became suffocating as his thoughts increasing invoked a terrible fear that gripped the old mage’s heart like a vice.

  Anama’s brooding reverie ceased as a sudden clangor caught his attention. Someone or something stirred in the very bowels of the massif. He fought to overcome the instinct to turn and flee the terrible place without further exploration, but he could not leave without knowing what had become of the man he loved. He forced himself to rise and reluctantly set about the task of finding a path to the hidden gallery described in the diary. It came to him that the answer might lie in the slight but incongruous movement he had noticed as he passed a lavish tapestry on the far wall of the central chamber. The rustle of the cloth might reveal a concealed access the deepest bowels of the massif.

  Returning to that chamber, he carefully inspected the lavishly-woven masterpiece, and closer scrutiny quickly confirmed his suspicions. The woven image depicted a woodland setting in which a number of goat-legged satyrs were apparently enjoying a homosexual romp. Battling a growing dread, he shoved aside the heavy embroidery and reluctantly began to descend the crude, stone stair that lay behind the covering. Lest he stumble, he caused parallel streams of light to adorn the length of the narrow, downward-spiraling path before him.

  The claustrophobic tunnel wound endlessly downward, penetrating the bedrock for what seemed like miles. Although Anama detected no sounds other than those of his own making, his olfactory senses protested the noxious smell that became more potent as he proceeded. It was an odor he immediately recognized as the acrid stench of death.

  The passage came to an abrupt end before a large bronze door, the surface of which was molded to depict a bevy of nudes, both male and female, engaged in various sexual practices. The door stood slightly ajar and easily gave way to Anama’s touch. As he entered the pitch-black sanctum, his hand brushed against an oversized lock; it was dangling loosely, open with the key lodged in the hole. Whoever had unlocked the door had neglected to lock it again upon exit if, in fact, he had left at all.

  He paused momentarily before proceeding. His stomach lurched at the sickening fetor permeating the atmosphere of the room he felt compelled to enter. He braced himself for the worst, sure he was about to encounter an unavoidable horror of unknown nature. A terrible sense of dread tortured his brain. He strode slowly forward, dispelling the darkness of the area ahead reluctantly.

  Within a few feet he encountered the first of a series of niches lining the walls on either side of an expansive chamber. Each niche contained a low square plinth topped by the convex molding of a somewhat smaller torus of identical stone. He spied the word “Helen” where it had been carefully cut into the outer face of the plinth; “Troy” and ancient date appeared immediately beneath the name, as could be expected. The niche itself was unoccupied.

  He wandered past several other empty niches without pausing to read the inscriptions, anxiety about to rip the heart from his body. Having left the niches behind, he was startled to suddenly find himself confronting a great crowd of people. All of them were completely naked, and all save one were men, although another female might well be concealed amidst their number. None of the people paid the slightest attention either to Anama or the light he focused upon them. The stream of nude figures, undoubtedly Evoquitus’ bevy of mindless lovers, trudged round and round the room, their overall path describing a circular pattern revolving around an empty area. They frequently bumped into each other, and those who fell flopped helplessly upon the floor like stranded fish, ignored by the others.

  Anama rose up on his toes in an effort to see over the heads of the naked zombies and into the central space. Something caught his eye, causing him to lunge forward, rudely shoving the dull-eyed nudes aside in an effort to reach the target central area. When he
finally attained his goal, his worst fears were confirmed. He covered his eyes and ran, stumbling and howling like a maniac, as if the fleeing all the devils of Hell.

  At the foot of the stairway, he collapsed. He unleashed a torrent of sobs and curses that echoed the length of the stairs before fading in the chamber above. He damned his own soul, blaming himself for the unspeakable tragedy he had just witnessed. If only he had not deprived Evoquitus of his powers, this thing could not have happened.

  The scenario, as he imagined it, played out repeatedly in his mind. Frustration and loneliness had surely driven Evoquitus to seek the companionship of one of his captive former lovers. What a shock it must have been when, upon entering his secret gallery, he discovered them waiting for him. By revoking his powers, Anama had unknowingly released all of Evoquitus’ collection at once. They surely flung themselves upon him, driven by the rampant lust Evoquitus had instilled in them.

  Anama visualized the desperate multitude grabbing, clawing, and clutching the object of their desire. They would have raped him repeatedly, mindlessly, each ruthlessly fighting for his or her chance. Evoquitus, unable to defend himself against the throng, was overwhelmed by a seething, ravaging mass of uncontrollable zombies. In heated, mindless frenzy, they tore at his body, each slavering for direct physical contact until, eventually, his perfect body was ripped apart. In time, the murderous lovers failed to recognize the cold, still, dismembered corpse as the object of their craving. How long, Anama wondered, how many days had they stood there, gathered around the ruined form of Evoquitus, staring blankly at his bloody remains? Deprived of a goal, their minds had surely short-circuited, rendering them capable of little further function. He felt certain they would maintain their silent, uncomprehending vigil until they died, one by one, of starvation and dehydration.

  For what seemed like hours, Anama was totally incapable of the slightest further thought or action. He lay down upon the cold stone of the stairs, the shock of the unbearably painful scene leaving his mind mercifully numb.

  A muscle spasm in response to the painful position of his collapse, caused Anama to rise instantly, slamming his head against the wall. His self-awareness slowly returned as a result of the pain, and he slowly dragged himself to his feet. Summoning every ounce of inner strength, he repressed his subjective feelings in favor of the immediate duty he was obligated to perform.

  He forced himself back into the grim gallery of death. Little, if anything, had changed during his lapse into unbridled grief; the eerie glow of the light he had conjured continued to illuminate the disgusting scene.

  “Get back,” he screamed with impatient disgust at the imbecilic idlers, “all of you! Return to the stations to which you were assigned!”

  The befuddled herd of vagrant forms passively obeyed, shuffling back to their appropriate niches without as much as a glance toward the issuer of the order.

  When all were in place, their cold bodies posed according to Evoquitus’ original arrangement, the great sorcerer again addressed the group. “I command you to remain where you are in perpetuity, ageless and unchanging forever, just as your master would wish.”

  A tortured grimace marred his face as he returned to the bloody vestiges of his lost and tortured love. His stomach churned uncontrollably as he stretched both arms out before him. He recited the verbal components of a spell he otherwise would never have dared to use. In violation of the sacred oath he had taken more than a century earlier, he called upon the dark, forbidden forces, compelling them to aid him in his solitary mournful task.

  Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the shattered flesh stirred within the innumerable small pools of smeared blood scattered across the floor before him, suddenly animated in necromantic response to Anama’s spell. In time, the ravaged shreds came together to reconstruct Evoquitus’ original, flawless form. When the transition was complete, Anama wept over the restored beauty of the handsome corpse as he bent to lift the limp body up in his arms. Unhindered by the dead weight of his charge, Anama clutched the burden close to his breast. He then strode to the only unoccupied and unlabelled niche. He transferred the still form to the stand, then gently, lovingly, arranged the limbs, head and torso into a proudly magnificent pose.

  Retreating a few steps, Anama rested his eyes upon Evoquitus’ restored glory for the last time as he stepped onto the platform’s base. He carefully embraced his dead comrade. “I can do no more for you, my friend,” he whispered sadly, “for that I am sorry.

  “You represent the ultimate beauty you strove so diligently to preserve. Should some alien race one day happen upon this place, they will surely recognize the wonder of your singularly flawless countenance, though it be dead and cold for many millennia. Would that I had not been so blinded by your beauty that I failed to perceive the latent child within you, the child who never received the nurturing required to attain true understanding and maturity. Deprived of love, you desperately searched blindly for some way to express your needs. Your inborn craving for love and understanding ultimately found only distorted release, but bereft of guidance, you cannot be blamed either for the mistakes you made or the crimes you committed.”

  Having said all he could, the hoary wizard turned, leaving the confinement of the unique gallery behind for a final ascent of the stairway. Twice he stumbled on the rough stone edges before attaining the upper chamber, his vision blurred by irrepressible tears of regret.

  The inconsolable mage abandoned the treasure-laden mountain, sealing its entrance behind him. As he slowly retreated to the valley below, he caused the masonry of the stairway to dissipate, that the curious villagers might be not be tempted to intrude upon the peaceful solemnity of the towering mausoleum.

  There was no need, upon his return, for Anama to explain anything to his five compatriots regarding the tragic outcome of his fateful journey. The pain was all too obviously etched into the old man’s face.

  During the three remaining weeks, the Six spent much of their time together, bearing their mutual love and overwhelming sense of failure in stolid silence.

  When the end finally came, the Earth and its sister planets were overtaken and consumed in silence, swiftly and mercilessly, in a searing, all-consuming blast of solar hellfire many thousands of times hotter than the blast of a crematorium. Neither the hand of any god nor guardian angel interceded at the last moment to prevent the ultimate holocaust.

  All was reduced to less than ash in an instant. The radioactive remnants of an entire solar system slowly surrendered to the infinitely weakened force of the dark, shrunken mass that had so freely radiated life-giving heat and light.

  The only survivor of the cosmic disaster was a small, irregularly-shaped boulder. Though its outer surface had been scorched to the hue of pitch, its contents remained intact due to the unbreakable force of Evoquitus’ miraculous spell. No longer a captive of the dead star, the black massif slowly drifted out into the cold unexplored depths of limitless space, the final legacy of man and only remaining proof that humanity had ever existed at all.

  -Dedicated to the Memory of the Incomparable Hannes Bok

  The Tale of Toad Loop

  So you want this old codger to tell you about Pritchy Kwik and the goin’sons out at Toad Loop, do you? ‘Though forty years is a mighty long time, I remember it clear as a bell. Mind you, there’s none can give a more accurate account ‘cos I eye-witnessed the better part of the whole shebang. There were those that differed with me on a couple of the finer points of events, but I was there and ain’t spinnin’ no fool’s yarn. I got proof positive of my words if you still harbor any doubts after, and I’ll show you. Let me give you some background, then we can get to the meat of the matter.

  When Mazrah Mulltree first showed up here in Madland County, I was sixteen years old. You wouldn’t have recognized me; I was a strappin’ lad livin’ down on my daddy’s farm. It’s hard to believe now, but back then, the girls were crazy for me.

  Mazrah seemed an okay feller at first. He right
away bought up a good-sized piece of land which for years had laid idle. Word was he plunked down full payment in ingots of solid gold, though I didn’t see it myself.

  I asked him once why he’d left back East. He said he’d had a fallin’ out with a relative, Captain Marsh, who more or less ran his hometown of Innsmouth. Mazrah up and left when he and this Marsh feller didn’t see eye-to-eye.

  The property he bought was mostly good pasture land, not wantin’ for water. One part was wooded-over, though, down where the Mad River curved all the way around. The river wasn’t much more than a trickle at that point, yet by looping around, it made an island we called Toad Loop. Nobody knew it then, but the Loop was the reason Mazrah chose that particular piece of land in the first place.

  Well, sir, there was a lot of clearin’ needed doin’ before plantin’ season, so Mazrah hired himself a bunch of us locals to help out with the clearin’, cuttin’, and stump-guttin’. We built him a one-story catslide house, two-story barn, hog pen, and chicken coop, so he’d be in shape for Spring. Hiram Kline, Martin’s daddy, dug the hole for the outhouse.

  Though the house wasn’t far from it at all, ol’ Mazrah never allowed us near the Loop itself. It wasn’t like the waters was any danger or nothin’, ‘cos like I said, the river’d dwindled to a creek by then.

  So everything went along just fine for a couple years, though folks felt Mazrah kept to himself too much. He up and courted Asaph Kwik’s youngest girl, Pritchy, who was considered a good catch by most. She wasn’t the prettiest girl around, though her curly white-blond hair was much admired. Mazrah was a good lookin’, though stern-faced, man and Pritchy fell for him right off. Next thing we heard was they was gettin’ married. Even though Mazrah didn’t attend church meetin’s, old Asaph favored the wedding. If you ask me, he hoped some of them gold ingots were still tucked away somewheres. It wasn’t long, though, before Asaph learned he wasn’t so welcome at his son-in-law’s, though it gnawed his gut somethin’ awful.